


In Love With A Camera

by FanFicAddict7



Series: Playlist-A Bucky Barnes Anthology [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Art School, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Disabled Character, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gen, M/M, Past Domestic Violence, Photography, Scars, Trans Male Character, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicAddict7/pseuds/FanFicAddict7
Summary: War Vet turned art school student Bucky Barnes must work on a photography project with a randomly assigned model. He just hopes S. Rogers, whoever they are, isn't difficult to work with.Basically, Bucky and Steve talk about scars and how they got them and take photos of each other and it has feels and wholesomeness.





	1. Chapter 1

_She love lookin' at herself_   
_And she don't need no one else_   
_If she's in love, she's in love with a camera_

- _In Love With A Camera_ The Struts

 

Bucky had dreaded this assignment. Why did he have to photograph a person? Plants and landscapes didn’t complain or come with requests. But if he wanted to pass this class, he needed the grade. He just hoped he didn’t get stuck with some whiney sorority girl for a model.

“Barnes? Your model is S. Rogers.”

“Yessir.”

“Here is the necessary contact information.”

Who was S. Rogers? Some Stephanie or something? He bet she was blond. For some reason, there was a disproportionate amount of blonds who signed up to be models. Oh well, what was the point of wallowing now?

 

10 minutes? That didn’t give him much time to gather his ideas. He’d barely have time to read the assignment on the bus over there.

 

Screw it. He’d just go over it after he met Rogers.

 

✦-✦-✦-✦

 

“Hey, you must be my photographer.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Well, you’re the only person to walk in here with a camera around your neck since I was told to meet a photographer here, so I figured you were the one who this project was for.”

 

Introductions were made as the men found a table, Bucky unloading his armful of books on the table.

 

“What do you want? I’ll get it.” Maybe if they got off on the right foot, this project would go smoothly. Besides, maybe he liked guys.

 

One awkward attempt to carry two hot coffees in one hand later, they finally sat down to discuss their project. Bucky had to come up with a photo series based off of a song or lyric that spoke to him.

 

“Hey, I might actually have an idea. Do you know the song ‘Savior’ by Rise Against?” Actually, that was on Bucky’s top songs playlist. “Well, it opens with him forgetting her eyes and scars. So that’s what we can do.” Could someone really have enough scars to do a whole series with?

 

“What scars have ya got?”

 

The catalogue read as such:

  * Top surgery scars
  * One on the back of his neck from where he fell onto broken glass
  * A stab wound on his thigh from a fight
  * A burn scar on his right forearm and abdomen courtesy of an ex
  * A trach scar
  * A scar down his back from scoliosis correction surgery



 

“You’re okay with me photographing all these? A lot of these are super personal.”

 

“Yeah. They tell my story, so why not?”

 

They parted ways with the promise to text and figure out when they’d meet next.

 

 

✦-✦-✦-✦

 

It was 10:30 when Bucky got back from his appointment. The rush to get his “studio” setup for portrait shoots was abound as he put up screens and lights. Before he knew it, there was a knock on his door.

 

He was greeted with a smile and a bag with a deli name printed on it.

 

“Lunch. The best turkey sandwiches around. I saw the Star of David necklace and went with a Kosher friendly option.”

 

He’d noticed?

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tucking his necklace into his shirt, suddenly self-conscious.

 

They ate in silence, ignoring the awkwardness.

 

“So this is my studio. It’s not much, but I don’t normally shoot people, so.”

 

“Hey, if it works for you, it works for me.”

 

They started with a full body of Steve fully clothed. Then in his t-shirt, exhibiting his casually visible scars, but not focusing on any one of them. After some full body shots of him in only his boxer briefs, Bucky began focusing on each individual scar, changing the lighting, angle, focus, whatever he could think of.

 

“Alright, now I want to photograph your eyes, too. They’re mentioned in the song. Plus, that color? Will look striking if I apply selective color.”

 

“Selective color?” The way Steve tilted his head reminded Bucky of a labrador.

 

“Yeah, the photo will be in black and white except your irises, those will remain blue. Now, the easiest way to do this will probably be to have you sit on the floor.”

 

Silence fell over the apartment again, with the exception of a few quiet commands directed at Steve. Who happened to be the easiest person Bucky has ever photographed, he thought.

 

“What if I shot yours?” Bucky continued his task, only half listening.

 

“My what?”

 

“Your scars and eyes.”

 

Bucky paused, slowly sitting back away from Steve’s face. The discomfort was etched into every pore of his face, every syllable of his body language.

 

“My scars...You wanna see my scars,” the words more for his own ears than his subject’s. “I don’t-I don’t know if I can. No one but the doctors has seen them. Not even Sam. And he lives here.”

 

“Not even your girlfriend?” This drew a wry laugh from Bucky.

 

“Yeah, there’s no girlfriend. Never has been, never will be. And most of the other gay men I’ve met since starting college aren’t interested in a demisexual gay vet with only one arm. I’m not exactly fun at parties.”

 

“Ah. I can see that.”

 

“Besides, why the hell would anyone wanna see this carnage?” The disgust dripped off every word.

 

“Me. Because it isn’t carnage, Buck. It’s your story. It’s a chance to prove you are stronger than this world. Yes it happened, no you don’t look the way you used to, but that’s okay! And if a guy can’t handle some scars, then he is too weak for you anyway. You’d chew up and spit back out a guy like that. You don’t think my scars have sent partners running? Gay men see my top surgery scars and decide I’m not man enough for them. Straight girls too. Do you think I let that stop me from living? Do you think it makes me hide? No, because it just means they aren’t the people I need in my life. Your scars are nothing to be ashamed of, Bucky Barnes.”

 

Taking in what Steve said, Bucky slowly removed the t-shirt he had been wearing, keeping his eyes closed to avoid seeing the other’s expression.

 

“Most of them are from Afghanistan. I sign up for the army, thinking it was going to be an opportunity to travel and get school paid for. If the government was going to pay for me to go to school, hey good for me. I got sent to the Middle East almost immediately after basic. It was our third assignment out there. We were driving supplies to a local village we were trying to keep out of insurgent hands. It was supposed to be simple. Drive there, drop off our payload, go home. Except somehow the enemy knew that we were going to be there. We hit an IED and I burned. I can still remember the feeling. I didn’t even realize it’d knocked my arm off. All I could feel was my skin melting off. My own screams were horrifying yet somehow distant like they weren’t my own. I wasn’t in a year, and I was medically discharged.” Finally, Bucky opened his eyes, surprised that Steve was looking him in the face, not examining the burns that covered most of the left half of his torso. “You’re not disgusted?”

 

“I’ve seen burns before, Buck. Got my own, remember? Courtesy of my ex-boyfriend. He had been my high school sweetheart. Knew me before I was Steven. He hadn’t been decent. I guess he was at first. But the longer we were together, the worse it got. One day, he took my laptop and went through my search history while I was out. Saw I had been looking at stuff for figuring out if you’re trans. And that set him off big time. Yelling that he wasn’t a fag, and I wouldn’t be a guy. Lots of bigoted stuff. Then he took the pot of boiling water off the stove. I was going to be making spaghetti that night. Instead of using it for dinner, he threw it on me. I screamed so loud, the neighbors called the cops. I don’t remember much of my hospital stay. Not the beginning, anyway. He went to jail, I moved back to Brooklyn.” Steve’s gaze never waivered. “We all have stories. We all have scars. So no, I’m not disgusted by your scars. I’m not going to sit here and tell you I think you being burned alive in a desert is beautiful or some fake positivity culture bs, but I’m not going to sit here and let you think that they make you any less of a person.” Steve took the camera from Bucky. “They don’t make you ugly,” click, “or beautiful.” Click. “They make you Bucky.” More clicks as Steve made sure to capture as many images as he could of Bucky, as he was. There were full body shots, close-ups of the scar tissue, silhouettes, and one picture of Bucky’s eye with a single tear slowly gliding down his cheek.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered.

 

✦-✦-✦-✦

 

 

✦-✦-✦-✦

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The picture Bucky took of Steve's eye


End file.
